


if this feeling flows both ways

by epsilon_naught



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilon_naught/pseuds/epsilon_naught
Summary: jim stops touching spock and spock has Feelings about it





	if this feeling flows both ways

Jim has always been an incredibly tactile person, which Spock has found is strangely common among humans, touch as acceptable a form of greeting as speech, despite being entirely unsolicited. Even before they had begun spending significant amounts of off-duty time in each other's company, Kirk had been fond of wrapping himself around Spock the same way he fell into Dr. McCoy, and Sulu and the rest of the bridge crew, a loud, purposeful act that was as much self-comfort as it was possessiveness. Spock had spent weeks, months, working at leaning into Jim’s touch instead of flinching away, and then at holding himself at an acceptable, logical distance, instead of seeking out the warmth of Jim’s presence. Now, the captain has simply stopped touching Spock - just Spock - all at once. It has been 14.3 days since the last time Jim had even brushed against him as they walked to Alpha shift, and Spock finds himself tilting towards Jim whenever he walks in the room, standing unnecessarily close to the captain's chair as they take a call from Starfleet. His behavior, upon reflection, is the height of illogic, given that he had undertaken the endeavor of acclimating himself to Jim's touch solely for Jim’s comfort, to improve relations between the captain and his First, and yet-

Jim folds into himself every time Spock even comes near, looks away and shutters his eyes in a manner Spock hadn’t even known was possible, and he finds himself craving a glimpse into his captain’s mind, a fraction of the synchronicity that they shared, and he is angry. It is pure human illogic at its most uncontrollable, this anger that he cannot fathom to understand and yet-

it fills him without warning, when he catches Jim slipping in between Sulu and Chekov at a debriefing of the department heads, planting a joking kiss on Sulu’s cheek as he wraps a friendly arm around Chekov’s shoulders, at this moment as he returns to his quarters at three in the morning after tending to a particularly delicate experiment to McCoy helping an inebriated Jim back to his own quarters. Jim is plastered to McCoy, mouthing sloppily at the doctor’s neck, and McCoy’s voice is gruff and exhausted, but somehow still affectionate; it is vaguely reminiscent, Spock realizes, something heavy and uncomfortable settling in his stomach, of his mother’s voice when his father was particularly persistent about a singularly insensitive path of logic. 

McCoy’s comm beeps, and Spock can feel the panic rising up in McCoy’s mind before he sees it on his face, and he tries to step inside his quarters as fast and as quiet as he can, but McCoy glances up and Spock knows that he has lost. 

“Spock-” 

Spock stops, but resolutely does not turn around. 

“Spock-” and now the exasperation in McCoy’s voice is clear, “you green-blooded bastard, I know you saw me before.” Jim protests mildly, shoving McCoy gently. 

“spock snice, bones, don’t be mean.” 

McCoy looks up at the ceiling. “Look, can you just put him to bed? I need to get to med bay, and this idiot’s even more difficult when he’s drunk.” 

Spock still does not respond. 

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency, Spock.” and the exasperation and exhaustion, it is too much to handle now, and so Spock stalks over to the doctor and holds out his arms. McCoy lets go of Jim, and Jim stumbles, falling into Spock, and it is extremely illogical that Jim’s closeness would cause issue in Spock’s respiratory cycles and yet, Spock finds that it is exceedingly difficult to take in his next breath. 

Jim looks up at him, his eyes hazy and unfocused, and suddenly, recognition flashes in his eyes, and he jerks away from Spock as if even that momentary contact had burned him, lurching back into McCoy’s arms. 

It feels as if Jim has run him through with a knife. He wonders if the pain is as obvious on his face as it would be from an open, bleeding wound. 

Jim puts his mouth right on top of McCoy’s ear, and Spock clenches his hands into fists at his side. He is whispering something to McCoy, but Spock is locked inside his own thoughts. 

What is so despicable, so abhorrent about him that Jim cannot bear to be near him even like this? 

“I can’t touch him, Bones, I can’t, I can’t, what if he finds out?” Jim’s voice is painfully loud, though Spock imagines, for his own sake, that Jim had tried to whisper. 

“Kid, something in engineering just blew up and four of those brats are in sick bay arguing that they can keep working with third-degree burns, I gotta go. You can control yourself for five minutes.” 

On Vulcan, Spock wore gloves. He was the most powerful telepath that Vulcan had ever seen, and his thoughts were loud. An accidental brush of skin against skin, even with the shields that Spock had learned to maintain at an age when most other Vulcan children were still learning how to access their telepathy, would result in an unacceptable breach of privacy. 

By age thirteen, Spock hadn’t needed to wear gloves anymore, strong enough that he could control themselves, but his peers still remembered, and every Vulcan knew, and kept their distance. 

On the Enterprise, nobody cared. Everyone knew, of course, that Vulcans don’t like being touched, but Chekov often expressed excitement in the form of sudden embraces, and Nyota always took her leave with a light touch on Spock’s shoulder, and Jim-

Jim does not touch him anymore, and suddenly Spock cannot help but feel like he is a child again. 

“Jim, look, you’re making Spock sad.” McCoy says, a last resort, speaking to his captain as if he were a child, and Spock jerks his eyes up, aware that he has missed several moments of what must have been arguing. 

Jim looks shocked and guilty, and his blue eyes widen as he turns to Spock, who steels his eyes and wipes all emotion from his face. 

“Doctor, there is no need to insult me. If this emergency is as pressing as you have indicated, perhaps it would be best to simply deposit the Captain in his quarters, close the door, and take your leave.”  
Spock turns and walks into his quarters, locking the door behind him before sinking into a shallow and unfruitful meditation. 

-

Nibiru was hot and humid, entirely distasteful to Spock's desert-acclimated sensitivities, but the heat of the volcano is dry and oppressive and and it reminds Spock of Vulcan at the peak of summer, the heat so permeating that it sometimes felt as if it was scorching not his skin but his very bones. He thinks it is perhaps not the worst way to die, in this place so reminiscent of that which he has lost forever. 

He has witnessed so much worse, after all. 

He tells Jim, his voice steady and void of emotion, that he does not feel. That he is fine with dying. 

And he is. He remembers, as lava begins to lick up the sides of the thin island of rock that is his oasis, Jim entering his quarters a week after the start of their five-year mission. 

“Spock,” he had said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and Spock remembers noting that Jim’s mouth had already been red and bitten raw. “Look, I’m really sorry about all that stuff I said - I swear to god I didn’t mean it, it was just-”

“Captain-” 

and Jim had stopped short, immediately retorting - “Call me Jim.” 

“Captain.” Spock had repeated, allowing a small measure of amused stubbornness to seep into his voice - the tone that had never failed to put a smile on his mother’s face - but Jim’s face had fallen anyway, and it had hit Spock harder than he had expected, a complex mix of grief that he never fully understood. “It is of no matter.” he finished, pointedly. 

“No, it was horrible. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear, I just - I couldn’t let you take us back, and I know that’s not an excuse, and I’m so, so sorry, Spock-” and Spock had not seen any other possible means of proceeding other than to place a hand on Jim’s shoulder. 

His mother had always reacted surprisingly well to physical reinforcement of Spock’s words, and it was pleasing to find, in his days at the Academy, that at least this was a constant for most humans.

Jim Kirk included. 

Jim had stared for a moment, shellshocked, and Spock paused for a moment before saying,  
“I forgive you.” and Jim had wrapped his arms around Spock, so quick that Jim had pulled away before Spock had even had time to stiffen. 

“Sorry.” Jim says, sheepishly. “I know we’re not friends or anything, and I promise I won’t do that again, but I’m just really glad that you’re here.” 

And Spock had believed him then, when he could read Jim’s face as easily as he could read him through his touch.

Now, though. Now, as the heat eats through Spock’s control, burning him up from the outside in, Spock wonders if perhaps Jim had changed his mind. 

If Spock’s death would be a relief, a lifting of a burden. 

As the last of his small rock is burned up, Spock banishes those thoughts from his mind, remembering only the warm embrace of his mother, and the fleeting feeling of being surrounded by Jim’s arms. He does not know, in the moment, if he is being beamed up or burnt alive. 

Spock lands in the transporter room, standing tall for a moment. “You violated the Prime Directive.” Spock manages, before a wave of vertigo hits him, and he sways forward, unable to stay upright. He finds that he is about to fall for the first time since he was thirteen, punching a child several times his size for calling his mother a whore. 

Someone catches him, strong arms suddenly circling his waist and shoulders, and now there is a face pressed into the side of his neck, and cool skin pressed flush against his own and it is Jim, it’s Jim and Spock can’t help himself from returning the embrace, closing his eyes as he holds Jim tight. 

The transporter room is empty when Spock finally pulls away from Jim, trying to break away completely and finding that Jim is chasing him, following his touch, and Jim looks up at him and says, “Please.” and Spock cannot breathe once again. Jim is talking now, fast and unrelenting. 

“I just need to- I just- I need to know you’re alive, and you’re here, and you almost fucking died, you asshole, couldn’t even be bothered to say thank you, Chekov cried, did you know, he was crying and he still saved you, kid’s a fucking genius but he’s an emotional mess-” Jim is pressing closer and closer, his fingers skimming over the back of Spock’s hands, his touch light and cool against Spock’s superheated skin. “Look, I know you don’t like to be touched, but I need this.” and Jim’s fingers link with Spock’s unprotected, unshielded hands, and Spock is assaulted by worry and relief and most of all, a never-ending pulse of wantwantwant and this time Spock jerks away, strong enough, finally, to break orbit. 

There is raw, undisguised hurt on Jim’s face, and his fingers worry the hem of his too-long sleeves, fisted at his sides. 

“Spock?” Jim’s voice is quiet and brittle, as if he expects Spock’s rejection and cannot bring himself to accept it. 

Spock moves in close, close, closer until he can rest his forehead against Jim’s own, and he tilts his head slightly, pressing his lips to Jim’s, taking Jim’s hand in his own, letting their fingers brush. 

Jim slams him back against the wall of the transporter room and kisses him as if he wants to devour Spock whole. 

Spock stands still momentarily in surprise and Jim rips away as suddenly as he had pushed close. Just before he pulls away, Spock holds tight to one cool hand, allowing Jim to move as far away as he wants as long as their fingers are touching. 

“I’m sorry - fuck, I’m so sorry, Spock, I know you don’t like me-” and Spock cannot help pulling Jim close close close, the way he has been denied for so, so long, until Jim is pressed against him, close enough that Spock can hear the pounding of Jim's heart. 

“I am unsure as to how you have arrived at that conclusion," Spock admits, "particularly as in light of recent events, I had come to the rather concrete conclusion that it was you who did not like me.” 

Jim’s eyes are wide and distracting, and Spock is intensely aware of the slight distance between their mouths, of each puff of Jim’s air blowing exquisitely soft on Spock’s green-tinged lips. Jim holds eye contact and tilts his head the rest of the distance between the two of them, his free hand coming up to frame Spock’s cheek as his lips press softly against Spock's own, in harsh contrast to their previous kiss. One of Jim's hands is still held tight in Spock's, and Spock relaxes his grip to allow their fingers to brush against each other. He shudders at the sensation and Jim repeats the motion, intentionally sliding their fingers together before pulling away, grinning at Spock, his smile incandescent, stunning. Without warning, Jim throws his arms around Spock's shoulders, presses his face into Spock's hair.

"I'm sorry," Jim says, pulling back to meet Spock's gaze as Spock brings his arms up to return the embrace. "The whole no-touching thing - I realized a couple months ago that I had a thing for you. Couldn't risk thinking about the wrong thing at the wrong time and having you find out." 

"You assumed it better for me to believe you hated me?" Spock's voice is quiet - he cannot understand the logic behind Jim's actions, and he wonders, fleetingly, if Jim's affection will be ephemeral, if he will someday in the future be left with nothing but the memory of Jim. 

"I could never hate you." Jim says firmly, his arms tightening around Spock. "I didn't want you to freak out and leave me. I could live without touching you, but I wouldn't last a day if you left me. You know that." 

"When considering the events of the past day, it seems as if I am the one who needs your rescue, Captain." Spock murmurs, amusement seeping through his voice. "And I could never leave you." 

Jim smiles, something soft and secret that Spock knows is reserved for him, pulling away but slinging an arm around Spock's shoulders as they walk out of the transporter room. 

-


End file.
